


Chimera

by Steila



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Light Angst, Porn Watching, Pre-Canon, Salty Teens, Sexual Content, Slight Canon Divergence, Some suprnatural elements, Time Travel, Voyeurism, Weird Plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-11
Updated: 2017-04-11
Packaged: 2018-10-17 20:02:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10601211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Steila/pseuds/Steila
Summary: This story is inspired by the mystery tales about  'St.Jonh's day' (On August 20, St.John’s day, virgin girls used to put a sprig of St.John’s wort under their pillows to dream of their future husband).In this story, Sansa Stark and her friends drink a magical infusion to dream of their future husbands. Something goes wrong and Sansa gets access to a vision of her future in which her older self is very much in love with the Bastard of Winterfell and they can't keep their hands off each other. By the whim of another magical twist, she brings Jon with her in that very disturbing future of theirs and now they are trapped in the future with no way back.Aka Salty Teens meets Time Travel AU





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Amymel86](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amymel86/gifts).



> For Amymel86: I was making an aesthetic board for your wonderful story 'You Know Nothing Sansa Stark' when the premise of this story occurred to me. 
> 
> For: kingsnow because she beta'ed everything and helped me make this story come alive.  
> Your help was precious and very appreciated.

 

As Eddard Stark’s eldest daughter she was expected to become the wife of one of the most influential men in Westeros. Whether it was a Northern or Southern Lord, Sansa knew her future would be grand as her mother always promised. Lately, her mind had been itching with curiosity about all things Southron.  
She did not wish to marry one of her father's bannermen House after all.

  
She wanted a knight, a real prince from the south. She wanted to marry Prince Joffrey.

  
Why not? She always wondered. They were closer in age than most of her northern suitors and the King was found of her father.  
Yet there had been no talk of a royal betrothal and Sansa was now a lady of ten-and-five. A lady who was desperate for answers regarding her future.

  
Sansa had been particularly good this year. And being a good lady required her to rise at dawn to chant her prayers in the Sept, or study the meaning of archaic texts with Master Luwin which could be tiresome, but then again, she also studied sewing and embroidery, playing the harp, and that, she quickly discovered, was even more fascinating than the rest.  
It was on that occasion that she met Nephta.

  
She was the newest addition to their household and Sansa took a liking to the servant.  
Nephta was just so different, her and her mother were from Assai, a land that Sansa had only encountered in books. They had travelled to Winterfell after her father inherited a small block in Wintertown from his estranged family.  
But a few moons ago he’d died, prompting Lady Stark to give Nephta and her mother a place in the kitchens and the laundry service.

It did not take long for the girl of ten-and-three to become everyone's favourite in the kitchens. Her stories ever enchanting and her beauty undeniable. And Sansa always had a weakness for beauty. She loved it, even more, when it graced the face of a young lady with eyes green full of wonders.  
So she took the maidservant in as her unofficial attendant. Nephta joined Jeyne Poole and Beth Cassel in following Sansa around the castle.  
Tonight was one of those nights when Nephta had a new tale to tell.  
They were all sitting next to the fireplace in the Great Hall after supper.  
Her mother and father were walking in the Godswood, Robb and Theon were play fighting in the courtyard, and her little sister was probably off somewhere with her bastard brother.  
So Sansa thought the timing was perfect for their plan.

 

“Did you bring it?” she breathed looking around, though there were no one there besides their small group.

Neptha’s green eyes sparkled with a malice Sansa had never noticed before.  
She sat with a huge mug tucked against her chest and looked around at her friends before she fixed her gaze on the secret token she was holding.

Sansa felt a rush of excitement down her spine.  
This was the reason why Nephta was the little sister she wished she had.  
She was always bathed in mystery.

 

“What’s that you’re holding?” Jeyne asked, her voice breaking some with a giggle.  
Beth leant forward on Sansa’s right.

 

“This? It's a flower.”

“A flower? Why is it inside a cup??” Beth murmured with a frown.  
She was the youngest out of their little group and her fear of Neptha’s strange stories was heightened with each encounter by the fireplace.

 

“A very long time ago, my people found a small tree of black roses. They called it the tree of chimaeras.  
They also discovered that the tree had a gift.”

 

“A gift?” Jeyne breathed, her hands moving to the cup on their own accord but Sansa held her back. She kept her gaze on Neptha.

 

“A gift that cannot be taught: the intuitive understanding of how to bend the ethers to your will, to call up the powers and create enchantments from thin air.”

 

Beth’s gasp filled the huge room.

 

“What is it? It sounds like magic... like something forbidden,” she said.

 

“Don't interrupt her.” Jeyne scolded the younger girl.

“They say if a maiden drinks an infusion made of those roses, she will be privy to wondrous magic and witness many great mysteries in her sleep. but there is something else..” Neptha trailed off as she put water into the mug she was holding.

Sansa noticed a sudden cold chill in the room.  
Those magic roses, if they were as magical as Nephta said they were, they could be the solution to end her misery.

  
She knew from Septa Mordane’s words and Master Luwin’s lessons that magic did not exist in Westeros. It had gone away, along with the dragons, centuries ago.  
Yet Old Nan believed in the tales of fearsome creatures in the lands beyond the Wall, where it always wintered.  
She believed that they were still amongst them.  
If creatures as vile as the snarks, the Grumkins and even The Others were to exist, how could she question the power of such benevolent flowers?

 

“If the maiden is pure of heart she would sense a power to surpass anything she had experienced before.”

 

“We should do it.” Sansa reached out and her friend's free hand with both her hands. Her heart quivered with fear and excitement.  
Deep amidst that confusion, she could sense a chill of guilt for doing something that she shouldn't. But it was only to happen in her sleep after all. No one would know.

 

“ I’ve never tried it myself. My mother brought the last flowers from our homeland. I stole a few to show you. But we are not to drink it.” Nephta said and Sansa’s heart sank with disappointment.  
The kitchen girl was the most daring companion she’d ever had and now she was recoiling in front of the unknown.

 

“ I would like to try it,” Jeyne said with a trembling voice.

Sansa liked to hear that yet she still struggled against the fear that the insipid Beth Cassel had contaminated the air with.

 

“I would like to know the man I will marry.”

 

“ I would like to know as well,” Sansa said and realised as soon that her decision was made. She was tired of waiting around, she was too curious about what her future held. “We have to do it.”

 

“But there is one thing that I cannot comprehend from what my mother told me about those flowers”

 

“What did she say?”

 

“She says it could create a longing of the heart and spirit in one’s body.”

 

Sansa understood the two last words, but she failed to understand the former.

A longing?

 

“How?”

 

“I don't know. That's why I’ve never tried it before.”

 

“It doesn't matter. She probably said those words to warn you away from the flowers. You said it was the last thing she kept from your homeland right?” Jeyne asked.  
Proving once again her quick understanding of a situation.

“It is.”

 

“Then we shall drink it and see what happens.”

 

Sansa nodded eagerly and watched as Nephta placed the mug supported by an iron stick to the fire.  
When the flower diluted into the smoking water, she pulled it out.

 

“Drink this and you’ll experience the mysteries.”  
She eyed the brew with skepticism. It was dark and smelled strongly of ambrosia and earth.  
The combination was repelling.

“You drink first,” Sansa said with a smile, her eyes still inspecting the dark liquor.

Neptha’s eyes widened and she blushed some.  
She looked at the beverage with uncertainty.

 

“ I don't wish to know the future. It's best left unknown,” she said at last.

Sansa’s smile disappeared.

“We are all going to drink it. After all, aren't we all pure of heart and the best maidens to flower in the North?”  
She could sense the hesitation in the girl and she did not like it.  
If they were to take the risk, then they would all do it together.

“Drink.” Jeyne summoned the dark-haired foreigner with a clap of her impatient hands.

Nephta gave a last pleading look before she pressed the mug to her lips.

Sansa waited, her breath held in her throat with fear.

Nephta lowered the mug with a little smile.

“It smells like death but it tastes like a dream,” the girl said then laughed loudly.

Jeyne yelped and joined in on the laughter, already drunk with excitement.

When it was her turn she drank, then it was Beth’s turn. The little girl was quivering with tears when she downed the dark substance.  
And finally, it was Sansa’s turn. After seeing the glow of contentment and hearing her friend’s laughter, she did not fear when she pressed the mug to her lips.

The liquor burned her throat and brought tears to her eyes.

Something was amiss, it wasn't working.

Squeezing her eyes shut, with all her will she forced herself to drink again and again, until her jaw grew sore and her tongue was aching, and still she kept drinking the dark liquor, willing it to be, willing it to be, willing it to work in her favour.

Suddenly the liquor got caught in her throat. Her mind went blank.

  
Sansa held her breath as shadows deepened around her, like gathering thunderclouds, into an impenetrable blackness throbbing with life. Some unseen force unleashed itself, knocking her back on the carpeted floor as the Great Hall was suddenly overflowing with a dark presence.  
Her friends laughter grew stronger around her but she could not join them.

Beth jumped in Nephta’s arms and kissed her on the lips. Jeyne’s gasp of surprise was followed by a fit of uncontrollable giggles.  
Yet Sansa could not experience the euphoria.

Her mouth fell open and darkness rushed in, filling her to the brim with its primal power. Her head throbbed as the magic blew through her nerves, pushed the boundaries of her physical and spiritual form until she lost the ability to tell where her body began and the presence within her ended.

She felt so big she would overflow the highest tower of Winterfell. As though her strength could shatter the walls around her like shattered glass.  
It was too much. She couldn’t hold the charge.  
The screeching of spectral ravens tore through her mind until she couldn’t think, her skin sizzling with too much fire.  
She had heard whispers of people dabbling in magic, taking in too much power and then going insane.

Wasn't it the story of The Night King?  
Old Nan had told them that shivering tale once. She hadn’t understood. Hadn’t believed it. If only she’d listened to Nephta’s warnings.

 

She just lay there on the fox carpet while her friends danced about the room in hysteria. Shielding her eyes with her hand from the piercingly bright light around her. But to her relief, the primeval darkness began to release itself from her spent body, flowing into the ground, the stone absorbing the waves of excess magic she had been foolish enough to think she could contain.

She lay panting as the screaming birds quieted and her mind began to clear. Her muscles unclenched their spasmodic grip and her shivering body settled.  
She let out a long, deep breath. Carefully sitting up, Sansa peeled a few strands of sweat-drenched hair from her face.

_Something was wrong._

Someone was holding her shoulders.

 

“Sansa is everything alright?”  
She looked up to the familiar face of her bastard half-brother.  
His cool touch froze her trance momentarily.

“ Something is definitely wrong,” said Arya right behind him. “ Look at them? They are behaving like drunken fools” she said angrily but her eyes were full of worry.

“ Call Maester Luwin! Call someone!” Jon shouted and Arya hurried out of the room.

Her blood ran cold. What had she done? What if someone saw them like that? Dear Gods, she had been a fool!

Sansa tried to stand up but found that her feet could not support her weight.

She fell limp in the bastard’s strong arms.

 

“ What did you drink?”

Sansa tried to answer but she was still overwhelmed.  
A quick glance behind her back brought shame to her already tired body.

Beth and Nephta were running stark naked about the Great Hall, with Septa Mordane, Old Nan, Jory and Hodor trying to contain them.

Beth dabbed and flew away from Jory then snuck her tongue out at him.

 

“I love her! I love her!” she shrieked.

 

“I love you too!” Nephta shouted from the other side of the room while Hodor advanced on her.

 

Maester Luwin was brought then and he examined Jeyne’s limp body on the floor.  
He could not name what was wrong with her.

  
Sansa’s examination was done while she was tucked in Jon’s arms. Her fears of the dark force would hit her every time the bastard would pull away from her.  
So she held onto him, urging him to squeeze her into his protective arms under the lethal eyes of her mother and Septa Mordane.  
Jon Snow was red with embarrassment and discomfort but he did not try to pull away even when Sansa nestled her nose under his chin.

He kept apologising thoroughly for holding her.  
But neither her mother or Robb could understand the terror that seized her in that moment. The fright that only Jon Snow’s arms could keep away.  
Mother and Robb did not look happy as they went to talk to the cook. They suspected it to be a case of food poisoning.

Sansa had tried to tell them that it was magic but they didn't believe her.  
Only once she was bathed, clothed and put to bed could Sansa finally breathe.

 

 

She wasn’t sure how long she drifted in and out of sleep, but when Sansa woke the moonbeams had shifted their silver path on the walls and shone brightly as a beacon into her face as her eyes fluttered open.

She waited in the dark as her body relaxed and her vision stilled to perfect nothingness.  
Sansa rested in the void for a moment, serene in the peace, almost reluctant to sleep again. Then a voluptuous swell of memory broke through her mind. All she could see was a man’s flushed face above hers, his deep grey eyes a kindle as she arched against him and wrapped her legs around his back. His bare body illuminated by moonlight streaming through the tent’s flap as he murmured words, I adore you.

She blinked and the memory disappeared.

A new vision materialised before her.  
As if standing outside herself, Sansa beheld Jon Snow under the Heart Tree. He wore a simple crown of bronze.  
All the northern Lords and their ladies were in attendance. Jon Snow looked more handsome than ever in his neatly folded coat draped carelessly over his broad shoulders. Next to him stood a girl with a cascade of copper hair and creamy skin like her own. Bright blue eyes were filled with tears as she gave herself to Jon Snow.

A marriage was taking place.

The auburn haired bride raised Jon Snow’s hand to her lips and her soft words echoed through the ethers. “Your hearth is now my own.”

Thrilled with her vision, Sansa jerked out of her trance, nearly jumping out of her skin as the loud crack of cold whirlwinds shattered the stillness.

She blinked and she fell back into the vision of the tent.

 

_No, she could not go back to her own tent. Which left only one place._  
_Her eyes darted to Jon Snow’s pavilion._  
_She thought of the handsome man that was once her bastard half-brother._  
_He was still the same man but now he meant so much to her._  
_Since she’d found him on her dying horse at the moment she was about to let go of life._

_He came back to life that same day. He came back for her._

_They said he was changed. He came back with fire trapped in his cold body._  
_But Sansa did not believe those tales from the Wildlings._  
_Even when Stannis’ men had warned her of his outbursts of rage and his new violent tendencies, she did not believe them._  
_And she had been right. Jon Snow never attacked her even in his darkest moments._  
_He recognised her. She was his sister._  
_Which made what she was about to do all the more wrong and sinful._

_Sansa shook her head as she hurried her steps on the snow._  
_She thought of the man asleep in his furs and tasselled pillows, of the curve of his well-muscled back, the masculine beauty of his face, the way his dark grey eyes filled with desire when he gazed at her everytime she was near._  
_What would it be like to see that desire inflaming him when he touched her skin, left a trail of kisses across her breasts?_  
_She burned to know._

_Maybe he wasn't the only one who had been changed after all. She did not know if this consuming desire for her bastard half-brother was born from her base condition as Alayne Stone. But she found no shame in it._

_They were both bastards now. And Winterfell was not theirs anymore, Winter had come, the world was about to end and all that was left to her was snow and stone._

_Sansa stole across the snow to his pavilion and peered in._  
_Jon lay entwined in sheets, his naked body exposed to her hungry eyes. Holding her breath, she stepped inside and crept a bit closer, her heart raced with excited terror as she looked down on him._

_Sensing her presence, Jon’s eyes opened and sleepily he rolled over and grasped her hand to hold next to his cheek._  
_She felt the rough beginnings of a beard, the strong line of his jawbone and sleep-warmed skin._  
_He began to speak but she put a trembling finger to his lips. With a drowsy smile, he reached out to pull her into his embrace. Like taking a leap into the fathomless pool of the Hot Springs. She closed her arms around every solid inch of him she could hold and felt his warm hands slide down her back to cup her buttocks in his firm grasp before his mouth closed over hers in a hot deep kiss that would be seared into her memory for the rest of her life._

_His warm mouth found her icy lips, tasted them, savoured the taste of pure glacial water, Winter had been bestowed upon them._  
_Her fingers sank into the silk of his hair warmed from his body like fur. He smelled warm like a fire, felt solid as a tree with great limbs that bent towards her as if she was the sun. He was part of nature and Sansa knew he’d spent the time she’d been away outside despite the cold. She suspected he liked winter, even when everything was frozen and sharp, and the fur-ruffling wind drove tiny spikes of ice into the skin._  
_When he released her, he knelt to remove her boots, Sansa ran her fingers through his thick hair. His scalp felt hot._

_“You won't regret this?” he asked when he removed her boots._

_“No.” she lied. Maybe she would. Who knew what tomorrow will be made of, with Winter as a shield and the Boltons as foes._

_“You will.” He pressed one kiss to her knee and smoothed his heat into her newly-bared toes as he pulled off her stockings._

_“I’ve wanted this since you recognised me in Castle Black.” she confessed._

_“I was nought but a wild beast back then. No different from the walkers.”_

_“I wanted you even more then.” she confessed hotly and felt her centre beating._

_Sansa remembered that one night at Castle Black when he attacked the guards who were holding his cage._  
_He’d howled like a starved_ direwolf _, climbed the gate with his bare hands and foot then ran away._

_She had never felt so alone in the world after that night. She’d tried her best to speak to him, to bring sanity back to his mind but he could not understand._  
_She had thought she was left alone in the world again. She had travelled from The Vale to the tip of the North for a man who had become half beast._  
_Uncle Brynden had let the cold waves of Long Lake swallow him so Sansa could make it to Jon._  
_Yet he had left her in that moment._  
_However, Jon came back that very night. She was surprised to wake up with his hot body curled against hers._  
_And everything had been restored. Now she just needed to show him how much._

_“Lies!” he groaned._

_Sansa tried to pull him in for a kiss to show him just how much he meant to her but he flipped her on her belly._  
_She gasped in surprise, her eyes looking back at him with fear and excitement._

_They said he was a dangerous creature now._  
_But she had to trust he’d never hurt her for real._  
_Not for real._

_One more jerk and her clothes were off her body._  
_Jon put one hand on her right shoulder to hold her down, shoulders flat against the mattress, and pulled her underthings off her body._

_One arm hooked under her knees and pushing them up and over to one side. His pelvis pressed against her bare hip, then a finger strayed along the crease of her buttocks._

_Sansa couldn’t part her legs further; she couldn’t help him. She could barely breathe._

_“Jon, please,” she gasped_

_He eased his weight off her legs, and Sansa took a deep breath. But she had no relief until he reached his goal. His straying finger found what it was looking for and slid into her._

_She groaned and he found her slick and ready. The gyrations of her hips fought his hold on her. He quickly graduated to a second finger, spreading her wetness until he felt he could use her as he wanted and not hurt her._

_“Your cunt is slippery,” Jon said, almost casually. “How many fingers do you think it could take? Speak.”_

_“I... I don't know.”_  
_One finger slipped into her, curling. He withdrew it. Then two. Then three._

_“Three?” he wondered._

_Sansa swallowed as she felt cold fingertips sliding over her entrance. Her breath came hard and shallow. Her hair fell wet with sweat around her face, brushing against her cheeks, and the muscles of her legs were starting to protest her position. Then Jon worked his fingers inside her and she forgot all about that._  
_Her core stretched around him, her body opening for his touch. When at last his fingers were buried inside to the tilt, he slid his thumb over her quivering arsehole._  
_She tried to protest. He wasn't supposed to touch her there but he kissed her right there._

_“I like to see you like this,” he breathed. She felt him move behind her, and then he was kneeling between her legs, and something damp and cool and hot at the same time flicked a sensitive spot in her middle. His tongue. Then hot lips were closing around it and he sucked it into his mouth._

_“You are the last person I expected to see again. I’m happy you came.” he kissed her again._

_Sansa cried out._

_“Do you like it when I kiss you here? I wanted to do it to you that night when I saw you at Castle Black. I was still in Ghost’s mind but the wolf in me recognised you. It liked your scent, I wanted to fuck you”_

_Sansa shrieked. The power of his mouth was incredible. Blood rushed to her mound, engorging her sensitive bud, and when he retreated she felt full of raw nerves and exposed to the sudden assault of his tongue as he flicked and rolled it around in his mouth._

_“I wanted to kill Stannis when he proposed marriage to you. I almost did.” He mumbled._

_Sansa's face managed to crack a smile._  
_She knew he’d tried to kill the Stormlander._  
_She’d noticed it when someone had accidentally set Stannis pavilion afire, two times this week._  
_Then there was the incident with the horse excrements in Stannis food._

_“Jon you can't kill our only ally over a marriage proposal,” she managed to breathe out while he worked her body._

_“Do you want him?”_

_A shiver ran up her legs as he withdrew his fingers and set up a quick, tight, pounding pace inside her slick channel._

_“I want you.”_

_“I have no lands, no army, I'm no King.”_

_“Stannis is no King.”_

_His free hand reached down and fondled her breasts, plucking at her nipples, driving her to need higher and higher as he circled her bud with rapid strokes of his tongue._

_“I will kill them all with my bare hands and reclaim Winterfell for House Stark. It belongs to you.”_

_Sansa_ thrusted _into those murderous hands with a throaty moan._

_“But...I hope you won't hate me for killing, for being like this._ There _is still good in me. I will get better.”_

_She pushed his face with her hand and turned around to face him._  
_His face was flushed and damp with her._  
_His grey eyes ever haunting were full of pain._  
_Those grey depths ate her up but his hands stayed down, straight but rigid, by his sides._  
_He was waiting._

_“Something you want to tell me, Sansa?”_

_A sob ripped out of her and she started to shake._  
_She rushed to him and kissed his face furiously._  
_Her mouth swallowing his and biting his lips._

_“ Please don't be like this. Don't say things like this. It breaks my heart.” she kissed his chin and down under his jawline, her fingers gripping into his flesh._  
_He did not kiss back, he held his hands in fists on either side of her body._

_“I love you. Like a brother, like a lover. I don't know. I love you a lot. That's all know.” she said._

_“Oh fuck,” he sighed._

_“That's not what you are supposed to say Jon Snow and what is…”_

_He cut her off with a kiss. She cupped his face in her hands, returning the kiss. Pushing her tongue against his when he penetrated her mouth._

_“I know when you say you love me it's just now because we are the only ones left. I understand I accept it.”_

_“You don't know what you are talking about…” she trailed off._

_“This is not a song. There will be no good ending for us. You don’t need it. And I’m still your brother for fuck’s sake and--”_

_“Jon--”_

_“Let me finish --”_

_“ You don't know that Jon. A few moons ago I thought I was going die in the snow alone in the Wolfswood, I thought_ hope _was gone. But I didn't die. I found you. It has to mean something.”_

_“ I did die, Sansa.”_

_“ Jon…”_

_“ And I came back like this. If you marry Stannis he could help you. He would convince the Northern Lords to follow him and retake your claims from the Boltons. He’s hoping he could recruit the North for his war for the Iron Throne.If he wins you would have a proper husband, and a throne... and Winterfell will be yours.”_

_“You don't get it. You think me stupid? I know what he wants, I want the same thing but with you. You and your wildlings friends will be my army. I will try to convince Father's bannermen to my cause. It would be no easy quest but we will try it together.”_

_“ You should marry and…”_

_“Then why did you try to kill him?”_

_He stared at her and he looked genuinely confused. It was as if he couldn't explain his actions to himself._

_“It was the Wolf. I spent three moons trapped in Ghost mind and when the red priestess brought me back, I brought a piece of him with me.”_

_Sansa nodded. She had figured it out as well._

_“Jon, there will be no marriage between Stannis and me. I will not be a pawn ever again.”_

_“A pawn? “_

_“ First I was a pawn to reconcile my father and King Robert, so I was passed_ into _a marriage to a monster. Then I became a pawn between the Lannisters and the Tyrells. I barely escaped King's Landing alive only to become Petyr Baelish’s creature. He groomed me and passed me to Harold Hardyng to gain influence in the Vale. When Harry died he was already planning to pass me off to some Lordling of his choice for more power._  
_So I flew. I braved snow and water to find you, to find myself and now I'm making my own choice. It's my game now.”_

_He studied her with narrowed eyes. “Am I a pawn to you?”_

_She shook her head and kissed his full lips._

_“No, you are my love. My lands. You are home.”_

_He groaned against her parted lips and kissed her back, hard. “I think I might love you too.”_

_It was Sansa’s turn to make a noise. It rushed up out of her, half joy, half relief._

_“Which part of that love is from you and which part of it is from the Wolf needs to debase me?”_

_He laughed. A quick loud laugh that she’d rarely heard from him._

_“I guess we will have to figure it out.”_

_He kissed her and rolled her onto her back. Jon had her how he wanted her, her knees pushed up high and her cunny exposed and he drove into her, eyes pinned to where he was penetrating her. Arms shaking on either side of her head. He drove into her hard and pulled back, the pressure and pain lessened, then he rocked forward into her again and again. With one scrape of his left hand, he found her breasts. Her nipples had hardened with arousal._

_He squeezed her chest, pinching the tight nipple almost too hard, the other hand supporting some of his weight over her, he pushed in and out slowly, until his passage became slick and easy._  
_Each time Sansa caught his eyes, saw his lips tight and parted with feral pleasure, a shudder ran through her He moved faster, matching her forced breaths to the rhythm of her heartbeat._

_Jon’s head came to rest against her shoulder, lips against her neck. He nipped, sucked, and then roughly held on as his thrusts became more urgent._  
_Then he slowed the gallop to a lope and, between movements, adjusted inside her again. Now his forehead was resting on hers_

_He rocked into her, his fingers on her hips were rough but not painful. It was a possessive grip she realised. She was his now if he wanted her._

_Jon fucked her, quick, sharp, hard, and she strained up into him as far as she could while, moans were dragged from her mouth, his chest grazing her breast as he pounded into her. He was nearing his peak. She could feel it somehow, and she gave herself over to sensations. Rough, sweet, wild, delicious, he dragged out her pleasure, plumbing the depths of her body with his cold invasion, and she responded to him as she had never responded to the joining of bodies._

_A tear slipped free and she brushed it away with surprise. Where was this coming from?_

_It was a marvel. This newness. And the bliss. And Gods, how close she felt to him this way, it was no motive for tears._

_She felt as though her body were sucking him inside, deeper and deeper, until he disappeared inside her, slick and cold, but so, so hot. Her walls clenched around him, and his seed lashed inside her, pushing against her inner walls until she felt as though she were going to burst._

_She reached her peak. It started as a low moan and when he gave his own cry, clutching at her, stilling for a moment before pounding into her hard, her moan dissolved into a cry and that dissolved into a sob._

And she pressed her head to the mattress, all her defences stripped away, all her control gone--and she cried.

There was a heavy weight on her chest.  
Her legs were trembling and her body covered in sweat.

Sansa straightened up with a small snob.  
Failing to recapture the feeling. She felt a sorrow so great in her heart that she could not understand.  
When she tried to move her nether regions throbbed with an unknown aching.  
She hissed, her hand moving instinctively to touch herself. She discovered with horror that she was soaked wet.

  
_Moonblood?_  
She bolted out of the bed to fetch linens and racks. She felt the blood pooling down her legs.  
She used a wet cloth to clean herself but there was no trace of the familial carmine substance. Instead, there were something white that smelt like nothing she’d ever seen before.  
She shrieked and threw the soiled cloth away. She undressed as quickly and moved into her basin.

Her heart beating loud with unnamed terrors.  
Sansa had been dreaming so vividly but she could not remember the dreams. She went back to her bed after she’d cleaned a bit.

In the morning she was called to Maester Luwin’s cell along with her friends.  
The Maester bled their wrist and asked them to chew lavender and coriander.

“I’ve never been sick from food all my life. And I detest drinking. I assure you that I cannot name what had happened to us last time. Probably an unknown illness.” she offered and peered up at the frown colouring the Maester’s face.

Sansa’s heartbeat quickened under the weight of her lie.

“You look tired with those dark circle under your eyes and you are probably sick. I wish I could solve this for you.”

 

“I will rest.” she asserted, glancing sideways at a silent Jeyne next to her.  
She had not said a word since she was brought in the cell her eyes were red and puffy as if she’d cried all night.  
Maester Luwin told her that Beth and Nephta had been put in quarantine.

Maester took more tests and asked them more questions about what they did last night before sending them away.

Outside the cell, Sansa rushed toward Jeyne Poole’s cowering form and held her shoulder.

 

“How are you feeling?”

 

“I don't know,” she replied and stared at Sansa with a face full of confusion and fear.

 

“What did you dream of?”  
Now that she knew the truth behind her friend's pain there were no need to pretend that last night did not happen.

Jeyne shook her head. “It was...I saw death. There is nothing that could explain what I saw in my dreams beside death.”

Sansa nodded. Her own dreams were as confusing and scary as death.

  
Those filthy, repelling things she did with the bastard were still haunting her. Even now her body was still aching with his feel inside her.  
How could such thing be when Sansa had never welcomed a man in her in that way?  
She was a maiden. She didn't even know that a man and woman could couple in that way...It was too intimate, invading and overall filthy and sticky and wrong. But she also remembered the pleasure.  
Her other half from the dreams had said that she had refused a marriage to a King for her own brother.  
Why would anyone reject a king for a kin? What went so wrong in that future of her to drive her that insane?  
She shuddered out of those thoughts.

 

“Jeyne we cannot tell anyone what we saw. Please, promise me that you would keep this a secret.”

“Even if I wanted to tell my mother, there is no way to explain what I experienced in my dreams,” she turned around and held Sansa’s arms.

“Sansa, life is not like the songs. There are no gentle prince and noble knights. Men are cruel and can hurt ladies. Really hurt them.”  
Jeyne sobbed before storming out of the corridor.

“Jeyne! Wait! Talk to me, please…” Sansa ran after her but her friend was faster and set on dwelling in her sorrow alone. She disappeared in the maze of corridors.

 

Sansa walked aimlessly around the keep trying to block out the images of the dreams.  
They came in full circle, vivid and mercilessly.  
She thought of visiting her mother's solar to help her with her sewing task. That was bound to ease her mind.  
As she walked back to her room, she inhaled the steam of the kitchens which this morning smelled of chicken broth and reminded her of how everything just felt normal.

She shouldn't fear dreams that held no whim on her future. They were just dreams.  
They would never come true. Father and Mother would never allow it. Jon would remain her bastard half-brother and she would marry the ever princely Joffrey Baratheon.

 

She walked in her bedchamber and started to look for her sewing tools when a sound from the courtyard caught her attention.  
She walked to the window and peered down at Robb. He was laughing with Jon and running after him while their direwolves barked in warning.

Sansa couldn't stop her gaze from drifting to the smiling bastard. Seldom did he laugh like this.  
She pushed her face closer to the glass to inspect the deep crease, happiness drew around his mouth. Suddenly his eyes left Robb and moved up to her as If he’d sensed her eyes on him.

Instead of pulling back, Sansa felt compelled to stare right back.  
She felt her body relaxing then her vision stilled to perfect nothingness.

She was watching Jon but a scene materialised behind him.

 

_She saw the door of the Lord bedchamber part open. Jon. He smiled at the woman on the other side of the room._

She felt her stomach muscles tighten, and it was suddenly hard to breathe. She wondered at her own reaction, her own thoughts. I should gain no pleasure from this, she thought, this is purely a matter of confusion. I'm sick. I drank too much of that strange beverage. What I'm seeing are not real. That woman is not me. I'm the real Sansa Stark.

_Sansa lay in a corner of the bed._  
_She wore a short, fringed tunic that revealed the long line of her thigh muscles, rippling with sweet-scented oil. Her breasts were bare, covered with a transparent gauze veil._

_“I thought you would head South after defeating the Others with the Dragons Queen. I thought I’ve seen the last of you.”_

_Jon stepped out of his boots and breeches, dressed only in a short black tunic, he walked to her._

_“Yet here you are, ready and waiting for me.” His voice was deep._

_“I wasn't waiting for you.”_

_“Liar.”_

_“I don't lie to you.”_

_“I made a choice Sansa. It was the North or The Iron Throne. You or a title and I chose you. I chose home.”_

_“Should I be flattered that you refused a crown and stupidly rejected the most powerful woman in the realm for me?” her voice was hard but Sansa could see the gleam of amusement in her eyes._

_“You should marry me.”_

 

The wretched bastard! Sansa couldn't believe her ears. A marriage between siblings was forbidden by the laws of men and by the laws of Gods. How could he even utter those words to her face? She wanted to scream.  
Instead, she saw her other self shaking a little under those words.  
Sansa smiled proudly, half expecting her other half to throttle the bastard for those obscene suggestions.

 

_“When?”_

 

Seven hells! Her other half was contemplating the idea. She would agree to marry that man. No, Sansa wouldn't see more of this absurdity.  
She tried to blink out of the dream but she was stuck.

 

_“We could do it now. As far as I'm concerned. But you are the Lady of Winterfell and I'm who I'm now…” he cleared his throat. “We should make a little ceremony at least for the sake of etiquettes.”_

 

The Lady Of Winterfell? Her? Was she the owner of titles now like her father and like those Queens from the songs? Sansa smiled proudly. She liked the sound of that.  
Then she frowned, a shiver of fear running down her spine.

Why was she owner of a title that belonged to her father? What of Robb, Bran and Rickon? They were the rightful heirs. Their claims were bigger than hers, a girl.  
Fear seized her insides until she realised that it was only a deceitful dream. It was the creation of bad magic. It got her fantasising about a world wherein she was Jon Snow’s beloved.  
Which was a sick twist of everything she’d ever known. Anything else from this dream had to be an obscure lie.

 

_“I cannot wait to make you mine.”_

_“I was always yours.”_

 

_Satisfied, Jon reached for her, but she slid away from him. A pitcher of wine and two silver goblets had been laid out on a folding cedarwood table, inlaid with ivory. Beside it was an hourglass, filled with sand._  
_Sansa turned it over to set the sand filtering to the bottom chamber, then poured wine into one of the goblets and brought it over to Jon._  
_He stood there, eager, but uncertain about his own role._

_She took his hand and led him to the bed, sat him down, held the wine to his lips and made him sip it. Then she took his head in her hands and kissed him on the lips. Jon tried to grapple her onto the bed, but she pulled away, whispering to him to be patient. Then she knelt between his legs and told him to take off his tunic._

 

Sansa felt her fingers tighten around the window bar. Her mouth was suddenly dry and she felt a bead of sweat make its way down her spine between her shoulder blades.

_Jon removed his tunic. He was built in stone, his muscles hard and pronounced, and his chest and belly covered in a pelt of dark scars. His face was flushed, and he looked as if he was in pain._

Sansa leant forward, her face touching the glass of the curtain between her and the couple, straining for a better view in the smoky, lamplit gloom.

_As if she knew what her younger self was thinking, the other Sansa moved to the side, the perfect tutoress, and young Sansa could now see the reason for Jon’s agitation. Old Sansa was holding the length of him in scarlet-painted nails…._

and Sansa puffed out her cheeks, repelled and fascinated. Impossible that such a small thing could grow so large. Could it ever fit inside such a small woman without tearing her?

And now what was she doing?

When she saw, Sansa, the maiden, jumped away from the window.  
That a woman could do that with her tongue and her mouth! She was not sure if she could ever do it herself.

_Jon was thrashing wildly about as if he were being whipped. His expression was that of a man under extreme torture. Yet he had his Sansa by her hair now and he held her there._

Sansa could see why neither Septa Mordane nor Mother ever explained to her the way of coupling.  
They could not make her understand such a thing by telling it.

 

 _The woman’s hands and her tongue seemed to be everywhere at once. Jon was groaning aloud, his voice eerily like the chanting the of_ Septas _inside the Sept._

_Old Sansa suddenly stood up, turned toward the window, and walked slowly to the table. She took another draught of wine, looked directly into the shadows, where young Sansa was watching from, almost as if she could see her there. She smiled._

The little witch is enjoying this, Sansa thought. Like every great performer, she craves an audience.  
And Sansa didn't know if this scene was meant for herself or the Jon of the dream.

_She walked slowly back to the bed, where Jon lay sprawled like a child. She leant over him and kissed him again, dribbling the ruby red wine into his mouth. Then she stood up and removed her tunic. She was naked beneath it._  
_She let her Jon kiss her belly and small breasts. He took a hard pink nipple between his lips, and she uttered a little cry like a wounded bird._

 

Sansa swallowed hard. Her hands were shaking. She felt as if she had despoiled the Sept or the Godswoods, was watching something both sacred and profane.  
It was not as she had imagined at all, something that could be learned by instruction, as men went to the courtyard to learn to wrestle or use their swords.  
She had seen the mating of horses and cattle and had imagined it was simply a matter of technique.

Yet here she realised there was something more; a theater of submission, passion and love.  
This was nothing like their night in the tent from last night’s dream, when their love was new and their bodies unfit for each other. This seemed different, controlled and appreciated.

There was an urgent warmth in her belly, wetness between her legs. She put a hand to her mouth, her teeth sunk into the flesh of her palm.

 

_Jon had her pinned beneath him on the bed, and Sansa writhed her hips in rhythm with him, her hoarse whispers and sharp cries punctuating each thrust. The strings on the narrow cot creaked in cadence; scarlet fingernails_  
_raked the skin of his broad back and the clenched muscles of his buttocks. Sansa threw her head back, her mouth open. But then she turned her head to the side and smiled into the shadows._  
_Sansa, for all her feigned submission, was still in control._

 

As nonsensical as that situation seemed, they were perfect. Perfect love, perfect theater.

Sansa felt a burning heat in her own loins, a deep ache in her belly. She felt physically sick with her own desire. She did not think she could watch anymore.

 _The other Sansa now sat astride her lover, riding him like a horse, letting his hands roam across her body. But she seemed to know the time, for suddenly and without warning, she lifted herself away and held him in her hands as the seed_ spilled _out of him, onto his belly. He lay gasping, his mouth open, his fists clenched._

_“I want to fucking wed you now.” he grunted.” Gods! I missed this! I missed your touch, your body against mine. Your laugh! I fucking missed you, Sansa Stark.”_

_“I love you, Jon.”_

_Sansa rose from the bed and went to the table to fetch more wine. She tapped the great hourglass beside the wine flask. The sand had run only half through. It seemed there was yet more of the performance to come._

But Sansa knew she could watch no more. She stood up and rushed from the window. She turned around to run but she froze as a shadowed form materialised in front of her.  
She felt as though she’d been doused with cold water. Shame hit her guts so hard she wanted to vomit.  
Jon Snow stood there in the shadow, right there in the stillness, watching the same thing as she’d been watching a moment before.  
His face turned red and torn in an expression of utter… disgust and fascination?

Sansa swallowed hard when his widened eyes landed on hers.

“What is this? Where are we?” He stuttered.

  
He was trembling with fright, Sansa realised.  
How could she explain this to him when she thought it to be a dream?  
Did she bring him into this realm with her?

“This is not real. It's just a dream. This is not real.”

Sansa closed her eyes and repeated like a prayer.  She felt fingers on her arm then a swift hot pain.

“Ouch! Are you mad?” she hissed after Jon had pinched her.

“Does it feel unreal to you?” he screamed.

 

“Don't scream!” Sansa covered his mouth with her hands. What if they disturbed the very strange people on the other side of the window and made their presence known?

 

“One moment I was training with Robb and you were watching me, I blinked and I found myself here.”  
He was panicking and Sansa didn't know what to do to calm him.

“I tried to walk out of here. But there is no way out beside that door where that..” he closed his eyes. “that man had used to join the lady. We need to use it to get out of here.”

 

Sansa blinked, she hadn't even tried to get out. Too captivated by the bodies on the other side of the window.

Jon sat on her bed and pulled her by the hand to sit her next to him.

“I promise you that I will get us out of here. I promise.” he breathed while his eyes darted back at the couple that were now laughing while the man positioned himself against the woman’s backside.

Jon’s eyes widened and his nose wrinkled in disgust.

“Is that...is that us?” he asked after awhile.

Sansa didn't know what to do. She couldn't process what was happening.

“They do look like us...just older and so strange somehow. Look how many scars the man has?” he pointed a finger at the man’s back that kept flexing while he thrusted into the woman.

“They are us. Our version in the dream. It's like a play Jon, this is not real.”

 

“ _Oh yes! Oh Jon please, harder! Faster! I want you deep inside me!”_

_“You like it when I fuck you like a wolf? Do you like it in your arse as well?”_

_“Please…”_

Jon stared at her, his complexion going from pink to red. He seemed on the verge of tears.

 

“I'm sorry. We shouldn’t be seeing those things. Everything will get back to normal. Maybe we caught that illness the girls had last night.”

Sansa nodded but her attention was back to the couple. What were they doing now?  
They were standing in the middle of the room with the man holding the woman’s buttocks in his hands, while her legs snaked around his waist, her arms around his neck.

 

“Why is he doing that to her if they are us? Aren't they siblings as well?” Jon asked at last, he was watching as well.

“They are betrothed.” Sansa said, feeling compelled to defend her older and depraved self.

“Even if they were, they shouldn't couple before the wedding night. This is wrong.”

 

“Maybe in this dream world people do these things differently.”

 

“They are still siblings Sansa. It's wrong.”

 

“I just said that they were betrothed. How can they be betrothed if they are siblings? Obviously, they are not siblings after all.” She spat harshly.

He kept distracting her with his ramblings.  
Why couldn't he just shut up for a moment and wait until the end of the play?

 

_“Jon! Oh Yes! Right there!”_

_“I I missed you so much I slayed those fucking walkers so fast so I could come back to you and put a babe in you.”_

_“Oh Jon... I want you to put a babe in me.”_

“ Are you defending them now? Maybe you are are the one who did this. You did something with the girls last night that brought us here. Speak. What did you do?”

 

“Me? You think me a practicer of magic? I didn't create this people, Jon Snow..Thank you very much. And if I had the power to craft such a thing you wouldn't be the one I would bring with me!” she screamed.

“As if I would ever wish to be stuck with you of all people. You just stood there gaping up at those degenerates instead of seeking for a way out... don't think I didn't notice.”  
He screamed right back, his eyes flashing with anger.

 

 

_“ Ohhh! You are a wicked man. Please don't do this to me I can't...I won't hold back...Please.”_

_“Don't hold back. Give it to me, Sansa.”_

 

“Oh please! I wasn't gaping! I was only analysing the situation we found ourselves in. I already figured out that the only way out was through that door.”

 

“You were quivering and shaking, and making weird noises while watching.”

Sansa felt indignation surge in her. He was accusing her of improper behavior.  
And Sansa didn't think she was behaving improperly. She was just watching the play.

  
She grabbed the pillow and punched him with it right on his angry face.

“ Ugh! You are the worst!” she screamed.


End file.
